


People Who Can Breathe

by Emjen_Enla



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Declan Lynch Loves His Brothers, Declan Lynch whump, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Matthew Lynch is a Real Boy, Matthew is almost unmade, Niall Lynch is a Horrible Person, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 07:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjen_Enla/pseuds/Emjen_Enla
Summary: Declan Lynch watches his little brother almost be unmade. There is absolutely nothing he can do.





	People Who Can Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Raven Cycle. Title is an adaptation of a line from "Save Myself" by Ed Sheeran.

The apartment Declan was renting in Washington D.C. was on the verge of being so expensive no one would believe a nineteen year old with no parents could afford it, even if that nineteen year old was filthy rich. He would have gotten an even more expensive one, but he didn’t want any rumors circulating about him being irresponsible or running an illegal business, especially because while he wasn’t irresponsible, he was definitely running an illegal business.

His desire to keep anyone from figuring that out kept him from renting the most high security apartment he could get, just to feel even marginally safe. Instead he had to make due with great but not top-of-the-line security systems and a couple security devices Niall Lynch had dreamt up back when he’d still been alive. The curtains were kept drawn, and the door was always locked. He checked every closet, under every bed and anywhere else someone could theoretically hide whenever he entered the apartment.

“Are you ever going to tell me who exactly you’re expecting to find under there?” Matthew asked standing in the door of his bedroom while he watched Declan check under the bed. “You act like you expect a crazy axe murderer to be lying to wait to kill us both, and I’d like it if you told me what I need to be worried about.”

Declan sat back on his heels and smoothed down Matthew’s bedspread without responding. He couldn’t very well tell his innocent little brother that given what they were mixed up in, assassins weren’t an unlikely possibility. He knew that he was acting crazy, but he couldn’t stop. He already couldn’t relax and this was all he could do to keep from pacing constantly.

He stood up slowly, his head trobbing particularily viciously in protest of the motion and the way the light from the kitchen burned his eyes as he turned. He’d been nursing this migraine for most of the week and the migraine medication he’d been prescribed back in high school wasn’t helping. He was sensitive to light and his stomach was upset. He wanted to seal himself in his room in the pitch dark, lie down and never move again. He couldn’t afford to do that. Matthew needed to be kept safe.

Instead of giving into his desperate desire to rest, he left Matthew’s bedroom and entered his own, crossing to the attached bathroom. He opened the cupboard and pulled out the bottle of migraine medication. The bottle was getting empty; he’d have to refill it. He shook a couple pills into his hand and swallowed them dry. They didn’t really help anymore, but he kept taking them because he felt worse when he didn’t.

“Can we order pizza for supper?” Matthew asked.

Declan whirled around, catching himself on the sink when his compromised balance caused him to almost fall. Matthew was standing in the doorway watching with a faintly disapproving look on his face. Declan had been trying to hide this from him, but obviously he wasn’t doing the greatest job.

Objectively, Declan knew that between the painkillers and his sleeping pills he was on the fast track to a prescription drug addiction, an ulcer or both, but he just didn’t have the time to deal with it. He needed to keep Matthew safe and keep Niall Lynch’s business from falling apart and getting all three Lynch brothers killed.

He wished his duties involved directly protecting Ronan too. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why Ronan wanted to stay in Henrietta. There Ronan had friends, a mission, and--at least Declan suspected--a boyfriend, it made perfect sense that he wouldn’t want to leave even if it was for his own good. Still, Declan would feel so much better if he had Ronan where to could see him. He had half a mind to drive back to Henrietta, knock Ronan unconscious and kidnap him, but Declan wasn’t sleep deprived, pain-addled and paranoid enough to start acting quite  _ that _ irrationally.

“Declan? Pizza?” Matthew asked raising his eyebrows expressively. He was so much realer that Aurora Lynch. If you actually knew to look, it was blatantly obviously that Aurora a dream, but even knowing the truth about Matthew, Declan was sometimes hard-pressed to see his youngest brother as a dream thing. That had confused him as a child; how could three-year-old Ronan have made a better person than the fully-grown Niall Lynch? Now he was pretty sure he knew; Niall Lynch hadn’t wanted a person, he’d wanted the perfect wife to perfectly fulfil all his desires. Aurora Lynch hadn’t been meant to be real. It made Declan feel sick.

“Declan, are you even listening to me?” Matthew asked.

“Yes,” Declan put the orange prescription bottle back in the cupboard and closed the door decisively. “Pizza, yes, we can do that.” The thought of eating made his stomach roil even more unhappily. He hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday and he knew he needed to at least try to stomach something, but he didn’t want to eat; he wanted to sleep.

“What do you want on your pizza?” he asked Matthew.

There was no response.

“Matthew?” he turned towards the bathroom door half expecting that Matthew would have gone to order pizza himself, but he was still standing there, looking at the floor, shaking and swaying slightly.

“Matthew?” Declan repeated. “Are you okay?”

Matthew slowly lifted his head. There was something dark on his upper lip, trailing down from his nose. For one instant Declan thought it was just a nosebleed, then he noticed that the fluid was black as ink.

“Declan?” Matthew asked in a very soft, faint voice. “Something’s not right.” Then he collapsed.

Declan lunged forward and caught his little brother before he hit the ground. “Matthew? Matthew!”

Matthew didn’t respond. Declan tried to wipe the sludge away but it only poured out faster. “Matthew!” He shook the boy, but he was unresponsive. Sludge began to trickle out of his mouth and his ears and his eyes, even the little cut on his knuckles where he’d banged his hand against a door the day before.

“ _ Matthew! _ ” Declan howled, but there was no response. He clutched his younger brother close, heart pounding faster than it ever had before, even the first time Niall Lynch had put a gun in his hands and told him to kill a monster that had come out of Ronan’s dreams. He would have thought that the adrenaline would have helped with his headache, but the pain was actually worse, so bad that his vision blurred with every beat of his heart, so bad that he wanted to scream or pass out or both.

He couldn’t allow himself to give in. Cradling Matthew’s limp body Declan fished his phone out of his pocket. His hands were shaking so badly he dropped it a couple times before he managed to unlock it. Squinting through his blurry vision, he found Ronan’s contact and hit call. He raised the phone to his ear, hoping that Ronan would actually pick up for once and be able to tell him what was going on and what he should do about it.

The phone rang and rang and rang. It wasn’t unusual, Ronan never picked up when Declan called, but with Matthew lying in his lap bleeding black sludge all over, Declan had a hard time believing that Ronan was just being recalcitrant. If something like this was happening to Matthew, something must be happening to Ronan too.

Eventually the phone went to voicemail. Declan hung up and called again and again and again. The sludge kept pouring down Matthew’s face. Then he gasped and began to convulse. Declan knew enough first aid to know you weren’t supposed to try to hold someone who was having a seizure still, but it still took all his self control not to try to contain his little brother’s flailing limbs.

The phone went to voicemail again, this time Declan didn’t hang up. “Ronan, if you were ever going to pick up the phone, now would be the time! There’s something wrong with Matthew. He’s leaking all this black gunk and he’s having a seizure. I think that he might be-” He tried to force the rest of the sentence out but couldn’t manage it. He stopped for a moment and watched Matthew writhe on his lap, covered in black slime.

Then he snapped. “Ronan Niall Lynch!” He roared. “If you and Matthew die on me, I swear that I’ll-” His voice broke and he choked back a sob. He ripped the phone away from his ear and hurled it across the bedroom. It ricocheted off the door and skidded out into the hallway, but Declan was turning back to Matthew.

Matthew convulsed for seven unending minutes. Then just as suddenly as everything had started it stopped. Matthew went limp and deathly still, the sludge stopped flowing out of his body and just dripped down his face. Was it over or was he dead? Not daring to breathe, Declan shook his brother gently. “Matthew?”

For a few heart-wrenching seconds there was no response, then Matthew coughed, the residual black sludge in his mouth bubbling over his lips. His eyelids slid partially open revealing slits of blue. Declan couldn’t hold back a sob. “Matthew.”

“D’cl’n?” Matthew muttered, the syllables blurring together.

“Yes, I’m here,” Declan said through his tears. His head throbbed and his hands shook,  but he tried to wipe some of the sludge off Matthew’s face. “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Declan?” Matthew opened his eyes more fully. His expression became decidedly worried. “Why are you crying?”

“How do you feel?” Declan asked ignoring both his tears and Matthew’s question. “Can you breathe alright? Does anything hurt?”

“I’m okay now,” Matthew said. “Tired.” he added after a moment.

Declan latched on to that last statement. It gave him something to do. Something he could actually handle. He didn’t know what to do when Matthew was bleeding black sludge and convulsing on the floor, but he did know what to do when Matthew was tired. He gathered Matthew in his arms and lifted him up off the floor. The fifteen-year-old was not anywhere near as light as he’d once been, but Declan managed despite the pain in his head that suggested the better course of action might have been to simply sink down to the floor and pass out.

His own bed was much closer, but Declan wanted to put some space between them and the place he was positive Matthew had almost died, so he opted for Matthew’s room. When he got there, Declan settled Matthew down on the bed as gently as he could.

“Declan?” Matthew asked looking up him with an almost unfathomably caring expression. “Are you alright?”

“What?” Declan blinked at him, a slightly hysterical part of him realizing he was probably doing a fairly creditable owl impression. “Why are you asking? Matthew  _ you’re _ the one who was just having a seizure and bleeding black stuff all over the place.”

That stopped the conversation fairly well. Matthew was a Lynch and Lynches didn’t talk about whether or not they were okay, and they especially didn’t talk about whether or not Declan Lynch was okay, because why would that matter when there were Ronan and Matthew Lynch to worry about? Declan levered himself carefully to his feet and set about making sure Matthew was comfortable.

Within twenty minutes, Matthew was in pajamas and tucked snuggly into bed. Declan sat on the bed, trying to wash the sludge off with a wet and soapy washcloth. It was harder than he would have thought, because the stuff hard dried into something the consistency of rubber and it didn’t want to let go of Matthew’s face.

“Declan,” Matthew murmured after almost ten minutes of only partially successful scrubbing. “Leave it for now. I’ll take a shower tomorrow and wash it off.”

“But-” Declan began. He wanted to say that he needed that gunk off his little brother’s face, but he stopped himself at the last moment. Matthew was tired. Matthew needed to sleep. Declan would survive, he always did.

He set the wet washcloth on the bedside table, not caring if it ruined the wood and simply sat watching his brother. Matthew’s eyes closed and eventually he sank into sleep. It took all Declan’s self-control not to immediately wake him up again just to be sure that he could. He couldn’t get the images of Aurora’s peacefully catatonic face out of his mind.

After a while the adrenaline began to wear off and he realized the imminent danger had helped his headache because he was starting to feel even worse than he had before. It was like there was a ball of superheated metal behind his eyes struggling to get out. He was dizzy and nauseous and he just wanted to lie down. No, he  _ needed _ to lie down. Right now.

Still he tried to hang on for as long as possible. Eventually, he was literally swaying in place, his vision swimming. Slowly he slid his shoes off, loosened his tie and eased himself down onto the mattress. He couldn’t hold back the sob that rose in his throat; it felt so good to lie down.

He wiped at his watery eyes for a minute or two, then crab-walked his hand across the bed. He closed his fingers around Matthew’s wrist so he could feel his little brother’s steady pulse. He was still fighting the urge to wake Matthew to make sure he could be woken, but it helped to feel his heartbeat and know that he was at least alive.

Declan’s eyes slid closed and he lay there, feeling Matthew’s pulse and listening to him breathe. His head still throbbed and his stomach still churned, but somehow he still felt like he was floating. Slowly, very slowly he drifted away.

* * *

 

“Declan. Declan, wake up.”

Declan shifted slightly and pried his eyes open, squinting against the faint light from the hall. He was curled up on Matthew’s bed with one of Aurora’s crocheted blankets--the one Matthew slept with as a safety blanket--draped over him. He felt better but only because his migraine had decided it could content itself with hanging out behind just his right eye instead of both of them. He would have been annoyed at himself for sleeping, but years of insomnia had trained him to be thankful for even five minutes of peaceful sleep.

“Wha’?” he muttered squinting at Matthew who was leaning over him. Matthew had obviously showered because all traces of the black sludge was gone and he was wearing different pajamas. His color was was back to normal and he looked no worse for wear for his experience, compared to Declan who left like it had aged him a million years. 

“Your phone’s ringing,” Matthew said holding the device out. “It’s Ronan.”

Instantly Declan was sitting up. His head ached and swam in protest of the sudden movement, but he pushed through it. He took the phone from Matthew, barely noticing the spiderweb of cracks that spread across the screen, probably from when he’d thrown it into the doorframe. The caller ID announced Ronan Lynch. Declan jammed his thumb at the button to answer the call with shaking fingers and raised the phone to his ear. “Ronan?” he asked. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Ummm…” Ronan sounded confused which was an emotion he hadn’t used around Declan in years. “I’m alright. I was calling about Matthew. You left a message, and you sounded frantic. Is he okay?”

Declan winced, he’d completely forgotten about that message. Of all the times for Ronan to actually listen to his messages, it had to be the one time that Declan completely lost his cool. He swallowed and tried to make sure his voice that level and normal when he responded, but he had the feeling that he sounded like he’d had a migraine on and off for a week, “Matthew’s… He…”

“I’m fine,” Matthew taking the phone and pulling it on speaker so that Ronan could hear him. “Declan’s just worrying for no reason.”

“You had a seizure and were bleeding sludge,” Declan snapped, horribly aware of how high and thin his voice was. “Worrying about that isn’t worrying for no reason!”

There was a long, awkward pause. Declan pressed a knuckle against his right eye, trying to ease the pain. It didn’t help. Big surprise.

“Well everything should okay now,” Ronan said after a while. He sounded like he had no idea what tone of voice to use. He and Declan had forgotten how to be civil with each other. “There was a demon that was unmaking everything in Cabeswater. Then Gansey gave his life to kill it.”

“Wait, Gansey’s dead?” Matthew asked, but Declan barely reacted. As horrible as it sounded as long as Ronan and Matthew were alive Declan didn’t care who else died.

“He’s fine now,” Ronan said. “He was dead for a couple minutes, yeah, but now he’s alive. It’s actually really complicated.”

“But you’re alright,” Declan said.

“Yeah,” Ronan said. “I’m fine.” An awkward pause. “Are you?”

“Of course,” Declan said, then throttled on. “There was going to be an auction for some kind of magical artifact in Henrietta. Do you have any idea what happened with that?”

“Mr. Gray went to it,” Ronan said. “Piper Greenmantle tried to auction off the demon, which obviously ended badly for her. Mr. Gray’s come up with some master plan to reform the magical dealers of the United States, which I personally think sounds destined for failure.”

“You’re probably right,” Declan said vaguely.  _ Was it too much to ask for the demon to take out  _ all  _ the dealers not just Piper Greenmantle? That would solve all my problems. _ Or at least most of them; he was not naive enough to believe Ronan would ever not be in danger because of his abilities.

They lapsed back into an awkward silence that carried on until Ronan cleared his throat and said, “Well, I’m glad you two are okay. I’ll see you on Sunday?”

Declan was almost overwhelmed by the desire to say that he and Matthew were never going anywhere near Henrietta again, but then they would never see Ronan again and that was unacceptable. Declan reminded himself that the sorry fact of their lives was that Washington D.C. probably wasn’t any safer than Henrietta. “We’ll see you Sunday,” he said.

“Okay,” Ronan said. “Bye.” And he hung up before Declan could say anything else.

Declan closed his eyes and sighed. He’d managed to have two conversations with Ronan that didn’t end in physical violence in one week. That had to be a record. Both his younger brothers were safe, at least for now. He should probably feel at least a little relieved or happy, but he didn’t really. His head hurt.

“Declan, can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes. He was lying on the bed staring up into Matthew’s face. The cell phone was no longer in his hand. He blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the lost time. “When did I lie down?”

Matthew looked worried. “Only a couple minutes ago,” he said. “I said that I was going to make toast. Do you want some?”

Declan’s stomach flip-flopped lazily. “I thought you wanted pizza.”

“It’s eleven o’clock at night,” Matthew said like that was something Declan should have already known. He probably should have.

“You could still order pizza,” Declan said.

“I want toast,” Matthew said. “I’ll make some for you too. What kind of jam do you want? We’ve got nutella and peanut butter too.”

Neither brother pointed out that toast was on the short list of things that Matthew knew how to make. Declan sat up, rubbing his knuckle at his right eye again. “You decide. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Alright,” Matthew said and Declan pretended not to notice how closely he was watched as he got up and headed for his room.

Once in his room, Declan gathered pajamas, his pills and shower supplies before leaving the room, stepping carefully around the black smudges still on the floor. He would have to clean those up and even after he did he didn’t think he’d ever be able to sleep in this room again.

He showered in the bathroom attached to the empty room that was supposed to be Ronan’s. Normally Declan was a master of brief showers, but he lost track of time and his thoughts and found himself still standing under the warm spray of water twenty minutes later. He shook himself into a more alert state and got out. He dressed in an old pair of pajama pants whose overly complicated pattern and the fact that they still fit perfectly even though he’d had them since the seventh grade made him suspect they where dreamed. He put on an Aglionby sweater that he’d never worn out of the house and downed another dose of painkillers before leaving the bathroom.

Matthew was standing by the kitchen island, spreading nutella onto a piece of toast with a deeply focused expression. Declan hitched himself up on a stool across from him.

“Here,” Matthew finished and held the toast out to him.

“You do realize that stuff is only a step up from spreading melted chocolate over a piece of bread and eating it?” Declan asked.

Matthew grinned. “But you like it anyway.”

Declan smiled and didn’t try to deny it. He took the piece of toast and studied it for a minute, then took a tentative bite. He was pleasantly surprised when his stomach didn’t immediately reject the food.

“Are you alright?” Matthew asked.

“Of course, I’m alright,” Declan lied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Matthew just looked at him, his expression grave. “You know, I’m not stupid, right?” he asked.

“What?” Declan asked. “Of course I do.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Matthew said. “You and Ronan treat me like I’m, like, incapable of realizing when anything’s wrong. It’s like you think I think the world’s all sunshine and rainbows all the time.”

“I don’t think that, Matthew,” Declan said. “And Ronan doesn’t either.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Declan sighed, and resisted the urge to rub at his eye again. It wouldn’t do anything for his migraine and would only make Matthew more worried. “Matthew…” he said.

“I’m a dream, aren’t I?” Matthew said, the words bursting out so quickly they ran together.

Declan had lied one lie or another for nineteen years, but he wasn’t used to his younger brothers catching him in his lies. Not that this was his lie, at least not originally. He hadn’t been the one who decided not to tell Matthew, but he’d kept the secret and so had Ronan. 

“Matthew,” he said. “I-”

“I’m not mad,” Matthew said. “Not really. I think I always knew on some level, but I am frustrated that you never told me. I think that I deserve to know.”

“What was I supposed to tell you?” Declan snapped, his voice so sharp that Matthew flinched. “That at the age of three Ronan already hated the brother he had so much that he made a better one?”

“Ronan loves you,” Matthew said, forcefully but not necessarily angrily.

“Yeah,” Declan said with a snort of laughter. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time he gives me a black eye I’ll never be able to explain to the important people at my internship.”

“He loves you,” Matthew repeated. “But he doesn’t understand you, and you don’t understand him. That’s the problem. Deep down there’s a part of you that resents that he got to be everything Dad wanted, but never had to deal with the bad stuff or clean up his own messes. Ronan needs someone to blame for all the bad stuff that’s happened to us so he blames you so he doesn’t have to admit that Dad’s to blame.”

“How do you know that?” Declan asked quietly.

“I understand people,” Matthew said. “And that also means that I understand the nasty stuff. For example; I understand that Dad was a horrible person who probably got killed because he didn’t have the sense to realize he was in over his head, and I know that you’re driving yourself into the ground trying to clean up his mess.”

“What else would you have me do, Matthew?” Declan asked. “The people Dad was playing with want Ronan, and I obviously can’t give him to them.”

“Let me help you,” Matthew said.

“No,” Declan shook his head sharply, headless of what that did to his migraine. “Out of the question. I don’t care if you know you’re a dream or not; you’re staying out of this and so is Ronan. I will not be our father.”

He expected Matthew to argue. Ronan would have, but Matthew just nodded. He wore an expression of understanding so deep it was uncomfortable. He wasn’t lying, he really did understand everything, even the nasty stuff. Declan didn’t know how to feel about that. Matthew might be right about him resenting Ronan on some level, but that didn’t mean that Declan actually  _ wanted _ either of his brothers to see the parts of the world he had.

“Okay,” Matthew said. “I’ll stay away from Dad’s enemies, but then you have to let me take care of you.”

“That’s not your job,” Declan said. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

Matthew smiled. “You’ve got enough trouble trying to take care of Ronan. Couldn’t the two of us just sort of agree to look out for each other?”

Declan knew it was probably his duty as the big brother to argue, but he was tired and hurting and there was a pathetically large part of him that clung to the understanding, to the idea of not being completely alone against the world. Almost without his conscious knowledge he smiled. “That could work.”

Matthew beamed, for a second he looked just like a perpetually happy child without a care in the world, but that was just a mirage. Matthew was as much a naive, two-dimensional dream and Declan was a simple political intern. “Good,” Matthew said. “Now finish off your toast.”


End file.
